Free Three Dog Night by Elsebeth Egholm Page A

she waved her arms about. He glimpsed some scars stretching from her wrist to under the sleeve of her jacket. He wanted to ask what she was really doing here, in his house. And, not least, who had been here at the same time. But she’d already closed her eyes and was evidently asleep.
    He picked up the shattered glass and found a couple of pieces of wood in the outhouse, cut them to size and hammered them across the broken window in the back door as a temporary fix. Then he started clearing up. He was well into his stride – he’d put the bookcase back and filled it with books, organised drawers and cupboards – when he heard noises from above.
    He went upstairs. She was sitting upright, still wearing the black Puffa jacket and lying on the sofa in her winter boots. There was a misty look to her eyes and he wondered whether she might be psychotic, existing in a different reality to his. She could be on drugs, but she didn’t look like a junkie. She just looked like someone who couldn’t cope with life.
    â€˜I’ve got to go home,’ she said.
    â€˜Not before I have an explanation.’
    â€˜I didn’t do it,’ she muttered. ‘I just wanted to see how you lived.’
    â€˜And so you took the key?’
    â€˜I saw the man take it the other night.’
    â€˜Stinger? New Year’s Eve?’
    She nodded.
    â€˜He borrowed my shovel. I wanted to find out who you were.’
    He sat down on the coffee table.
    â€˜And did you?’
    She shook her head and pulled a face as though it hurt.
    â€˜No.’
    â€˜Here, drink some soup.’
    He handed her the mug, which was still lukewarm. She averted her face.
    â€˜When did you last eat?’
    She didn’t reply.
    â€˜You have to eat. Have you got any food in your house?’
    She ignored the question and explained she’d been on the first floor when someone had arrived by car and smashed the window in the door. She’d been scared and had taken the lamp to defend herself while the man was ransacking the house below.
    â€˜What did the car look like?’
    â€˜It was a four by four.’
    â€˜Colour?’
    She couldn’t remember. Grey or black. It was covered in snow. She told him about the break-in and the noises coming from the ground floor.
    â€˜Afterwards he came up the stairs and in here.’
    â€˜Who was he? What did he look like?’
    She shook her head and coughed. The cough didn’t sound healthy.
    â€˜He was wearing a black balaclava. Like the ones you wear under a motorbike helmet. I think he was just as surprised to see me. I hurled the lamp at him, but he ducked and it hit the wall. Then he took one half of it and knocked me out.’
    She pointed to the two pieces.
    â€˜I’ll pay for the damage.’
    A cautious smile appeared on her lips. ‘I hope it wasn’t a priceless heirloom. Ming dynasty or something like that.’
    He’d bought it at a flea market in Ebeltoft.
    â€˜This is about the dead body, isn’t it? Someone broke in here because you knew Ramses.’
    Peter pointed at her arms.
    â€˜Were you in a fire or something? Is that why you’ve stopped eating?’
    She carefully pulled down her sleeves. Then she raised her hand to her throat as if to check her jacket was buttoned all the way up.
    â€˜Where do you know the dead man from?’ she asked.
    â€˜From prison.’
    She blinked. If her throat had been visible, her gulp would have been more obvious.
    â€˜I was in an accident,’ she said. ‘I was the sole survivor.’
    She gave him enough time to think she had been lucky before adding: ‘You don’t decide if you’ll survive or not. Had it been up to me, I’d have chosen differently.’

15
    M ARK B ILLE H ANSEN had seen the woman diver before. He recognised her red hair and inquisitive eyes. He had also noticed her smile when she spoke to her colleague. It was a wry, elfish smile and